Departure: Together Again
by hotchityhotchhotch
Summary: Oneshot. Part of the Departure series. Emily tells Hotch that she's in danger but wants the team to stay out of it. Will he let her leave? COMPLETE.


**A/N: So, I owe Rachelkillers 2 or 3 oneshots, this being one of them. Reasons vary (at least 2 for her writing reviews #200 and 500 of All This Time, and maybe another for something else haha). Anyhow, my prompt for this oneshot was "Emily says goodbye to Hotch." The rest was left up to me.**

**I naturally made this part of the Departure series, but I suppose that may be a bit misleading. You'll see why.**

"Hey," Hotch said to Emily when she walked past his office on her way down into the bullpen. She'd been talking to Morgan about something and appeared in a hurry to get somewhere.

She backtracked like a scared fourteen-year-old girl who'd done something wrong but was trying to act as naturally as possible. "Yeah?"

Hotch's blinds were already shut. He'd planned this encounter before they'd left for the case from which they had just returned. It was now closing in on two in the morning, and he knew all any of them wanted was a warm bed and maybe a nightcap. Not more time at the office. But he desperately needed a private conversation with Emily. "Come on in. Shut the door," he said with barely adequate volume.

Emily did as she was told, but didn't approach Hotch's desk, where he sat.

"Are you…just going to stand there?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Emily pursed her lips and gave in, sitting in one of Hotch's visitors' chairs. She managed to keep from rolling her eyes when he got up and sat in the chair next to her. Her aversion to the situation made itself known in her body language, though—she drew away from his touch just a little, flinched when his lips brushed against her cheek. "What's the matter? And don't tell me 'nothing,'" he said, giving her no chance to answer first. "Something's been up."

"What do you mean?" Emily asked innocently, suddenly wishing Hotch would be in a physical mood rather than a talkative one.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Emily. We haven't really had a moment alone in almost a month. When we're on cases, you say you're too tired even to come say goodnight. When we're not on cases, you won't come over, and you won't have me to your place. And none of this has to do with sex. You're avoiding me like the plague. Talk to me." His rough fingers were tracing lines through her currently parched, tired hair.

Her gaze moved cautiously from the floor to Hotch's eyes. His look was so tender, so empathetic, that she found herself incapable of lying to him anymore. "I'm…scared."

His look hardened considerably. "Of what? Are we moving too fast?"

Emily smiled, and quickly, not wanting Hotch to get the wrong idea. "No, not at all. I love you, and I mean that. And I know that you mean that, too."

"I do. I love you. What is it, then?" Hotch was twisting his chair, scooting it closer to Emily's. Blindly he reached to her lap for a hand to hold.

"Something from my past has…come back to, well…haunt me." Instead of probing, as he truly wanted to, Hotch waited for further explanation. "Before I came here, I worked for the CIA. I worked undercover on a huge sting operation, put a guy behind bars."

The way Hotch's soothing thumb stopped rubbing the back of her hand almost brought tears to her eyes. "Oh. I thought you worked for the Bureau this whole time."

"I did, but not for as long as I said. I had to account for the time I wasn't in the States, and the Bureau agreed to tack a few extra years onto my record, knowing that what I'd done overseas meant that my real identity couldn't have any holes. I'm not going to lie about this one—my mother did pull some strings for that to happen. She doesn't—and can't—know the details of what happened, and neither can you, so I've always been grateful that she helped, even though I hate politics, as you know—"

"You're rambling," Hotch said softly, and quite kindly considering that what he knew about his lover was slowly being revealed as a fabrication. "Tell me why you're scared. What's come back to haunt you?"

"The guy I put away. He's escaped from prison in North Korea. He's off the grid. And he's after me."

Hotch felt the blood leave his face. "Does he know where you are?"

Emily shrugged. "I knew him under a different name, but he's well-connected. I'm sure he knows my real identity and where I am by now. It's just a matter of how long he circles above me like a vulture."

"How long have you known?" Hotch asked. Emily had never seen him look more calm but sound more panicked at the same time. She had no idea how he did it.

"About a month. That's why I've been distancing myself. The less he knows about my personal life, the better. I can't put you and Jack at risk. The only way he'd know you and I are involved is if he's got this room bugged, basically. The second I found out he'd escaped from prison, I started treating you like I treat everyone else."

"I noticed," Hotch said frankly.

Emily's lips fell at the sides and her eyes widened in pity. "I'm sorry. But I'm confident that you and Jack aren't in any danger, as long as I stay away from you…in that way…"

"I wish you would have told me sooner," Hotch said, ignoring Emily's apology. "We could have been helping you all this time. We have the resources—"

"I want you to stay out of this. That's why I haven't said anything."

"Until now."

"I was going to…" Emily sighed and thought carefully before divulging this information. "I was going to leave. Tonight."

"_What? And go where?_"

"I don't know yet. But I need to stay away from you guys. It's me he's after, not you, but if you guys start working this like a case and he finds out, then he's after you, too."

"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you deciding to stay now?"

"What?"

"You said 'I _was_ going to leave.'"

Emily nodded in understanding. "I'm still leaving. I just meant that I was going to leave without telling anyone."

The rage that overtook Hotch was enough to make him want to swipe his arm across his desktop, clearing it of its contents. He came frighteningly close. "And you would have left without telling anyone had I not called you in here just now?"

Emily turned her cheek and stared at the black leather couch in shame, avoiding the eyes she knew had the power to change her mind. The fury in his voice somehow made her love him more, but not enough to stay. But his eyes…they were lethal.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere," Hotch said matter-of-factly. "Everyone can live at the BAU until this man is found if that's what it takes."

"You're being ridiculous," Emily said.

"What the hell do you plan on doing? Taking him down singlehandedly? He escaped from a North Korean prison and you're going to go knock on his door and point your Glock at him? _Emily_!"

The silence that filled the room after Hotch's shout was more unsettling than the shout itself. Emily felt the tears rimming her eyelids, threatening to spill, to break her resolve. "People are going to hear. You shouldn't yell," was all she could trust herself to say.

"Keeping this relationship a secret from our coworkers should be the least of your worries," Hotch spat. "This is a life or death situation. I'll yell at you until you realize how foolhardy your plan is. And it's not even a plan. Running isn't a plan."

"It is. And it's the best one I've got." Emily ran a finger delicately under each eye to catch the tears about to fall. She moved to get out of her chair, but the hands that had before only ever handled her gently now trapped her wrists as effectively as a pair of handcuffs. "Let me go," she murmured.

"So you can walk right into whatever trap he has set? Whatever your plan is, it's a suicide mission, and you know it."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," Emily said sardonically, sitting back down and resuming her staring contest with the wall.

"Would you look at me, for Christ's sake?" Hotch growled.

"Don't swear at me."

"Then look at me," he said.

"Let go of me." Her voice was flat, distant, like he'd already lost her. He loosened his grip, but only enough so that he was sure he wasn't hurting her anymore—not enough to let her free.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Me too." Emily sniffled petitely and finally looked at Hotch. As if her heart weren't already shattered into enough pieces, he of course had to be crying less shamefully than she was. "Don't cry," she said.

"In the span of five minutes, you tell me you love me and then tell me you're going on a suicide mission. Tell me how I'm supposed to react. _Okay, Emily. Whatever you feel you need to do. Go face some sort of European mob on your own and keep me posted._ No. That's not how it works, Emily. Just because you've accepted the fact that your life is at risk and there's nothing you can do it about it, doesn't mean anyone else has."

"Goodbye, Hotch," Emily said softly, taking him by surprise and yanking her hands free. Hotch's emotions cost him some reaction time, and Emily was already to his office door.

"So it's Hotch now, is it?" Hotch fumed, slamming shut the door Emily had already opened six inches.

"Are you crazy?" she whispered. "You're going to attract attention."

Hotch twisted the lock on the door and, as gingerly as he could despite the blood boiling in his veins, framed Emily's tear-sodden face with his hands. "I love you."

"I know," she choked, granting him eye contact.

"Do you love me, too?"

"Of course."

"I would do anything for you. _Anything_," he went on.

Emily nodded and forced her lips up into a sad smile. "I know." Her eyes flickered down to their feet—his were inching closer to hers.

"Would you do anything for _me_?" he asked, cocking his head in a challenging manner.

She nodded, slowly at first, but then with more certainty when his face closed in.

"Then you know what I'm asking of you. You can't say goodbye to me."

Emily took in a deep breath before her lips were crushed. Hotch wasted no time whatsoever in relearning the contours of her mouth. Over the last month he'd managed to sneak in a peck on the lips here and there, but Emily had denied him anything further. A month without this physical indulgence notwithstanding, it didn't take him long to remember exactly what she loved, didn't take long for them to feel at peace, together again. She cursed him for knowing her weaknesses, for breaking her down with a swoop of his tongue over hers, with his thumbs pressing painfully into her cheekbones. Emily had finally given in to her needs and slid her hands up and around his back when a knock sounded right near their ears, making both of them jump. Hotch wondered whether their little charade was worth it anymore. Deciding that whether anyone else knew what was going on behind this door was unimportant at the moment, he moved aside and unlocked and opened it.

"I'm sorry, I probably interrupted something important," Garcia said timidly, holding out Emily's purse. "But I was down talking to Reid and your phone is ringing off the _hook_, Emily. I thought it might be important."

"Oh, thanks," Emily said with a fleeting smile, relieved that Garcia walked away instead of asking what Hotch and Emily were doing standing right behind the door with the blinds closed and the door shut.

"Who is it?" Hotch asked, shutting the door and placing a hand on the small of Emily's back as she looked at the screen on her flashing phone. Before either one of them could read the number from whom Emily had apparently received eight missed calls, the phone vibrated and rang again. Emily gave Hotch a worrisome look. "We should have Garcia trace this number before you answer," Hotch said. "You never know."

"We can do that later," Emily said, picking up the call.

Hotch rolled his eyes at Emily's recklessness and watched her face as she answered. "Hello?...Who is this?" Emily walked back toward Hotch's desk, her mouth hanging open. Hotch was looking at her, desperately in need of information. She grabbed a pen and a report form Hotch's desk and scribbled down the number from her screen. "Garcia," she mouthed to Hotch.

As much as Hotch wanted to know what was going on, he trusted Emily and rushed out of the office with the phone number in hand.

She was seated on his couch, her hands in a praying position, her forehead resting on them, when Hotch returned a few minutes later.

"What's going on?" he asked, crouching down in front of her.

Her eyes were red and puffy when she looked up at him. "Did you trace the number? I kept him on the phone for as long as I could."

"We did. Garcia's tracking it. He was still moving when I left her office. He didn't turn the phone off. He's in D.C. but heading west."

"I know," Emily said, nodding. "He has my parents."

Hotch swallowed and got down on one knee. He sandwiched Emily's hands between his. "Please tell me you're not still thinking of doing this on your own. Let us help you. Let me help you. Please." Relief momentarily overpowered Hotch's fear as Emily nodded, her face contorting behind the cascade of tears.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review :) This is a oneshot…again, a oneshot...not a Chapter 1, all right? ;)**


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